


kiss & cry

by lostincostco



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Domestic Bliss, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Orgasm Control, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Yuuri Makes Victor Cry!!! the R18 Edition, Yuuri's Stamina and Other Non-Skating Hazards, mickey was right about yuuri all along tbh, some very mild Dirty Talk in Russian, this fic is basically
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-02
Updated: 2017-01-02
Packaged: 2018-09-14 05:42:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9164623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lostincostco/pseuds/lostincostco
Summary: “Oh,” Yuuri says wonderingly. “You’re crying.”





	

There’s something about running along the river with only the high, thin sound of the wind rushing in his ears, and the occasional car or boat passing by.  

Yuuri’s spent a lot of time wanting to run away from everything, so to be running towards something— _someone_ —is a change of pace he’s grateful for. He smiles distractedly at a fisherman, feeling warm despite the overcast sky and the flurry of snow that has him pocketing his glasses. 

His new jogging route loops around the river and passes by the stadium’s headlights, and the white-blue-red balloons decorating the sports complex that he associates more with Victor’s sports jacket than with the colors of Russia’s flag, which is embarrassing and definitely not something he’ll ever admit to anyone. 

The first time he saw that jacket in the wardrobe, Victor found him staring at it—one sleeve held between Yuuri’s thumb and forefinger, incriminating—and said: _‘Yuuri, what’s taking you so long?’_ and _‘You’d look great in it’_ and then, much later, _‘Wow’_ and _‘There’s a dry cleaner place not far from the 11th that might still be open’_ and, finally, _‘Maybe Yakov won’t notice if I borrow yours for Europeans’_.

Yuuri still can’t look any of the other Russian skaters in the eyes when they’re wearing their own jackets to practice. They actually think he’s just very shy and that Victor’s very forgetful, and Yuuri certainly won’t be the one to tell them differently.

“I’m back!” Yuuri stumbles in at last, smuggling in a not inconsiderable amount of snow on his person, Makkachin at his heels.

“Welcome home,” Victor says, getting up from the couch in one single, graceful move more suited to the ice, but that’s somehow currently reserved for greeting Yuuri. 

The look he favors Yuuri with when he wanders over to unzip his jacket and dust the snow away from his hair is filled with fondness. His sweatpants are hanging low on his hips, the hem of his shirt showing off a sliver of skin even as it hangs loosely on his frame. Makkachin noses at his hip and Victor pets him distractedly with one hand, brushing Yuuri’s damp hair away from his face with the other. 

His eyes are so soft, and he’s so handsome, Yuuri feels his frozen face flood with warmth even as he puts his cold hands under Victor’s shirt. 

“What are you doing, Yuuri?”

There’s a small, indulgent smile playing at Victor’s lips, and the sight of it makes Yuuri feel all warmed up from the cold already.

“Victor is always so warm,” he says by way of explanation, snuggling closer to keep the cold away, except not really.

“Do you want me to draw a bath?” Victor leans in to whisper in his ear. “Or do you want m—“

“Victor!” Yuuri groans, but doesn’t pull away. “Geez, what has Minako-sensei been teaching you…?”

Despite the complaint, one of Yuuri’s hands comes up to gently cup the back of Victor’s head. Victor’s fine, silvery hair is damp to the touch, and he smells like the shampoo they share, and Yuuri just wants to tug him close—so he does.

“Only helpful things,” Victor promises, and lets himself be guided into a kiss. 

He makes a cute, pleased sound in his throat that tingles on Yuuri’s lips when Yuuri fists his hands in the back of his shirt and starts unsubtly walking them backwards towards the bedroom. _Their_ bedroom.

“Hey,” Yuuri breaks away from the kiss to give Victor a searching look, one of his hands ghosting over the waistband of Victor’s sweatpants. “Are you finished with practice for the day?” 

Victor’s eyes widen a little before growing a shade darker, his arms looping around Yuuri’s neck as he lets most of his weight rest on Yuuri. 

“All done,” he says, snuggling up to Yuuri, light tone at odds with his wandering hands, the small kisses he showers Yuuri with.

Getting with the program equally as fast, Yuuri tugs the drawstrings undone and slips a hand beneath the waistband, his palm getting sidetracked by the curve of Victor’s ass on its quest to strip away his sweatpants. Victor kisses him again as Yuuri pushes him through the bedroom doorway, falling along with him into bed a little too gracelessly for someone who’s had so much practice, who pretty much falls on a professional basis.

He can’t help it though, when Victor’s all laid out underneath him, the tips of his ears and his cheeks flushed, his shirt rucked up to his chest. 

Yuuri’s hand accidentally tangles in the curtain when he reaches for the lube, Victor’s nimble fingers on his skin and the kisses he keeps fluttering on Yuuri’s collarbone proving a bit too distracting. 

“Victor,” he leans in, mouthing the words against Victor’s reddened ear. “Hold still for me.”

They’re pressed so close together, he can feel the gratifying shiver his words elicit, the way Victor’s hands still on his hips. How his eyes darken, anticipatory, and focus entirely on Yuuri. This time, he gets to the lube just fine, even without taking his eyes off Victor.  

The thing is, Yuuri maybe enjoys getting Victor ready a little too much. Starting off slow, teasing the rim of Victor’s pink hole with his thumb until it’s all wet with lube and readily yielding to pressure, rubbing his finger on the edge in little motions that make Victor open up and flush all the way down to his belly. 

Inanely, Yuuri finds the repetitiveness of it soothing, like doing compulsory figures.  

He puts a hand on Victor’s thigh, just underneath the inside of his knee, and pushes down until Victor’s bent almost in half, before adding another finger. Then he curls the two fingers inside of him, stroking careful, meticulous circles and pushing deeper only when he’s beyond sure Victor’s ready to take it.  

Victor clenches around him and Yuuri pauses until he feels him relax again. Except he’s starting to move his hips on his own, restless and searching for friction, and Yuuri has to bite down on his own bottom lip as he watches Victor writhe around his fingers, soaking in the small, helpless noises that Victor can’t quite bite back. 

There’s really no maybe about Yuuri enjoying taking his time with Victor, when he gets to see this.

Besides, if he keeps at it as long as he can bear, Victor will eventually sob Yuuri’s name, and Yuuri wants so badly to be the one to make Victor cry; wants to make a mess out of him and to kiss the tears away, after. 

“Ah,” Victor mouths a shaky moan into the sheets, arching underneath him, and Yuuri must’ve said some of that aloud, but he can’t really bring himself to care right now.

Victor’s thighs are trembling. His cock jerks, and Yuuri wraps his hand in a tight circle around the head just in time, squeezing hard. Victor lets out a choked little sound that goes straight to Yuuri’s dick, and turns his head to muffle another gasp into one of the pillows when Yuuri gives his cock another firm squeeze. 

When he’s finally satisfied that Victor won’t be coming just yet, Yuuri lets go, swiping a thumb across the pearl of precum at the slit and bringing it to his mouth as he does. Victor’s breath hitches, and his eyelids flutter shut, giving Yuuri a glimpse of—tears. 

“Oh,” Yuuri says wonderingly. “You’re crying.” 

It’s just a glimpse, though.

 _That’s no good,_ he thinks. _I want to see properly._  

Before he even registers what he's doing, he’s leaning over Victor, curling into him and pressing closer still, pushing him down on the mattress with his body. One of his hands gently brushes away the damp hair that’s fallen over Victor’s eyes, the other bracing his weight so he’s not fully pinning him to the bed. 

“Let me see,” he demands, leaning in until his cock is nudging Victor’s hip. _“Victor.”_

“Yuu— _ah!_ ” Victor’s words turn into a drawn-out moan when Yuuri grinds down on him, impatient. 

His eyes open a sliver, though, and Yuuri was right; Victor does look amazing like this, all mussed up because of Yuuri. His eyelashes are clumped with tears, little liquid drops that shimmer just like pearls in the morning light filtering through the drawn curtains, and Yuuri presses his forehead to Victor’s to see them all the better, feeling his own cheeks grow warm at the sight. 

“You look so good,” he whispers, kissing the tears away, revelling in their salty taste, how hot they feel on his lips. “I want to make you cry even more,” he admits, unabashedly earnest, humming in satisfaction when he feels Victor shiver all over. 

Yuuri finally, reluctantly, pulls his fingers out of him, and his hands grip Victor’s hips instead, flipping him onto his belly, the surprised gasp Victor makes at the sudden movement turning into a moan when Yuuri pushes him face down on the bed. 

Then, because he can, he sits back on his heels to admire the way Victor’s slick hole twitches, a little swollen from Yuuri’s thorough teasing, and wishes he had his glasses on hand. His hand pets one of Victor’s shivery hips almost idly, occasionally tightening its hold to prevent Victor from rubbing himself off on the sheets.

“Yuuri,” Victor practically sobs his name, tears welling in his eyes again. 

Futilely, he shifts his hips trying to get some friction, until all of a sudden he stops squirming entirely, the change breaking Yuuri out of his reverie. Victor twists around to look up at Yuuri through his pale lashes, unshed tears in his eyes. His mouth is parted ever so slightly and bitten red from holding back his cries, the splash of color vivid against his pale face and hair.  

And Victor’s always beautiful, but right now the sight of him is more breathtaking than ever. 

 _“Не могу,”_ Victor says, his fingers clutching weakly at the sheets, voice low and soft and guileless, like he isn’t purposefully riling Yuuri up. Like it isn’t working beautifully. _“Я не могу, не могу… Ещё. Eщё, пожалуйста, давай же, Ю—“_

“Victor,” Yuuri warns, hands tightening their hold on Victor’s hips. 

 _“Я хочу тебя,”_ Victor whispers, his half-lidded eyes glowing liquid blue in the dim light. There’s a small, victorious curve to his mouth. 

Yuuri bites down on his own lower lip hard enough to draw blood.

“That’s so unfair,” he breathes out harshly, gripping his cock to guide it just above Victor’s twitching hole, rubbing precum and lube into the heated skin, making it even slicker. The friction feels so good on his neglected cock.  

“What’s unfair,” Victor says with visible effort, as out of breath as if he’s been practicing jumps—quads by the thousand, truly—non-stop. “Is tha _—ah!—_ stamina of yours.”

“I thought you liked my stamina!” Yuuri’s voice goes a little high when he bottoms out inside of Victor in one long, unrelenting stroke, making them both moan.

Victor’s only answer to that is a soundless gasp, and then, when Yuuri starts fucking into him in earnest—he’s so slick with lube and ready to take Yuuri’s cock—a litany of, _“ah— ah—ah”_ and Yuuri’s name. 

If possible, Yuuri gets even more turned on by the flushed shells of Victor’s ears, the glimpses of his tearful eyes, how his mouth stays parted open. The way his cock is dripping wet with precum without even being touched. His grip on Victor’s slim hips tightens, bruising as he holds him in place, intent on finding just the right angle to make Victor cry out and fist the sheets for purchase on every thrust. 

Trying to recall the same patience and concentration he usually affords skating, he slows his pace, making sure the head of his cock is dragging across Victor’s prostate with each thrust, slow and steady and just a little shy of too much, Victor’s sweet little gasps and low groans spurring him on. Victor’s cock, red and swollen, drools out a little more precum every time Yuuri grinds deeper inside of him. 

Yuuri’s right hand reaches around to spread open-palmed and possessive over Victor’s heart, pressing his shivery body that much closer to Yuuri’s, the band around his ring finger leaving a small, satisfying mark on Victor’s chest. Then his hand drags lower, blunt nails leaving red streaks across Victor’s belly, until it fists around Victor’s aching cock, Yuuri’s ring dragging along the sensitive underside with each stroke.

“Yuuri,” Victor murmurs his name deliriously, breath hitching. “Yuuri, Yuuri…”

It takes only a few strokes of Yuuri’s hand until Victor’s coming in hot spurts all over his own flushed belly and chest, clenching around Yuuri’s cock. 

“You feel amazing,” Yuuri groans, fucking him through it, his forehead falling to rest on Victor’s back. He can feel the heat spooling up his spine, too; he’s so close to following suit. _“Victor.”_

He presses a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss to the nape of Victor’s neck and shoves into him one last time, before he’s pulling out and coming all over Victor’s back, the streaks of pearly liquid slowly running down the smooth expanse of his skin to pool in the dip of his spine.

Yuuri stays upright just long enough to sneak a kiss to the corner of Victor’s mouth, fast and tender, before he falls into bed, tugging Victor along in a tangle of limbs. 

They lie still for a long moment, breathing together. Yuuri tucks his face against Victor's hip, not particularly exhausted but still caught up in the dizzy onrush of warmth he feels, even as his skin cools down and sticks to Victor's everywhere they're touching.  

“Perfect, Yuuri!” Victor declares when he finally catches his breath, like they’re in the _kiss and cry_ after Yuuri’s done a particularly inspired and tricky performance. 

He doesn’t look like he’ll be tackling Yuuri into their usual hug any time soon, but he does open his arms in a wordless request, only wincing a little when his back twinges with the movement. 

Pleased despite himself, Yuuri complies, unhurriedly kissing his way up Victor’s chest before practically melting into his arms. 

One of his hands slips lower to rest on Victor’s ass, proprietary. It’s a little early for it, but he feels like he could get hard again just from hearing Victor’s soft, contented sigh when Yuuri presses a finger to his hole. 

It does give him an idea, though.

“Then, please let me do it one more time,” Yuuri says as he settles on top of Victor, the thumb he still has pressed at the rim of Victor's hole starting to rub at the sensitive skin there in small, gentle motions. 

It comes out as a believable request, since he’s really only half-joking. 

He places a small kiss to the underside of Victor’s jaw, and has to hide a smile in Victor’s neck when he feels him shudder, the expression on his face priceless. 

Unfortunately, Victor realizes it’s a ruse pretty quickly, on account of Yuuri’s quiet, shaking laughter.

“Wow,” Victor very nearly sighs in relief, turning to rest his temple on Yuuri’s shoulder. “I thought for sure I’d have to call Yakov tomorrow to explain why I can’t come to practice.”

“Sorry,” Yuuri says, not sounding all that contrite. “I couldn’t help it.” And, a beat later, “Wait, you’d really let me?”

“Of course,” Victor promises, all dishevelled and beautiful and _Yuuri’s_ , and leans in to kiss Yuuri on the nose. “As many times as you want.” 

“Huh,” Yuuri bites at his lip thoughtfully, suddenly feeling a lot more awake. 

 

( In hindsight, maybe Victor should not have said that. 

The determined expression on Yuuri’s face is all too familiar. Even his eyes are sparkling, like they do when Victor’s posed a rewarding challenge.  

Which he has, kind of. 

 _“You should not have said that,”_ Yakov says the next day, as unsympathetic as a winter in Krasnoyarsk.  

“I know,” Victor agrees from his prone position on the bed, sounding entirely too blithe even though the only ice he’ll be getting anytime soon is an ice pack. “Say, can you coach Yuuri for a few days? I think I pulled something when Yuu—”

Yakov hangs up. )

**Author's Note:**

>  _не могу, я не могу:_ can’t, i can’t  
>  _ещё, пожалуйста, давай же, ю—:_ more, please, come on, yuu—  
>  _я хочу тебя:_ i want you
> 
> wow, it’s only been 2017 for like two days?? and i’ve already written porn, so. that’s an auspicious start of the year, if i’ve ever seen one.
> 
> oh well


End file.
